Save the trees
Plant its seeds
Love the World.

Peace!

The clouds are rolling in
Loud--the thunderin'
Now the storm's begun,
Rain falls upon the stone.
No wars are ever truly won.
Dark clouds are rolling in....

River.


The impetus
               Of being
     Always on the run
               Through pinwheel eyes
    Those standing by
        The mystic roadway :  River

   Blues yet to be brushed
             Or in blush
         from Evenings’ chill / a breathing Canvas,
        Like windows we
      dreamers felt / all mindful
   And chock full O'
              Wonder
         Then ponder
      Yonder—"window breaks"
    Past the wilderness' sleep
                       Bone-heavy wood
                            Umber earth
    Past whoosh and rush of liquid
                Folding on itself like a soundtrack
                    Listen now
      Pedestrian be
                        Mindful of the cautionary whales
                                                   Old Ahab’s yell
                       Obsessions
                          Fears
                            Or loathing.
If one is drowning in one's sleep
         Look wildly
                  widely
                            Blithely
                     Down river  
Or up there beyond finger's point
                               Sidewinder-snake-journeys
       Until sky and below it
All meet
The distance
                      Now only a line
         Coalescing what is beyond
    Our ability to see
Far and away
      Evanescent
             Effervescent
                     Ever after      
                             River. / Life.

Here we are / being / proud
       Free-Spirit-Fluent
       With the rapid rivers, loud—
                     always on the run...
The currents like a child's curiosity,
     How goes it, then?
                   When or why                               Does it end ?
                  Where do we go?              
                                 And like most things beyond just existing
                            Will be lead to the high art /
Love’s deep ocean...
                      Nights full of stars.          
     We wish often and forget to seek
          mind
                    the sublimations/                   driftwood.
      
       So, Let’s then
Begin with a dot . a speck of dusk,
          burst of sunrise
              or dark, starry skylines
                   pieces to masterpiece                                             Raging fragility of waters’
            (Unctuous undulations)
    Folding upon itself in volumes
Or falling from on high
                             A droplet cry.
Then Flash! /of lightning
                  (crash or bloom)
           From the heavens
                        like electric rivers
                                                         So brilliantly Festoons...

Where do we go
                With those under toes
       There and here / underfoot /
       Over north / southern sleep
           to Oceans’ twilight deeps?
Go wrapped or map-less
Or no,
    Up
         Way
               Up yonder
     There Up there
                            Everywhere
                       All without fear...

My heart like the river yearns
             To go toward the sun
                       A flow / afloat
                 the beating drum
Always on the run
And
        Yet
             Still
                    Here.

Like Ahab On Moby ****


Epic… currents from a frozen heart:
tales, obsessions
A wrenching, unfreezing fist
raising sails
Like molten summits of emotions

To know one's own deepnesses
One's own submariner seas
How to breathe in it:
Darker trenches / squalls / the uncharted
Abyss, alien to airy rowan cliffs and breeze
The cold of it lacking breath

Tho' Open sky, song of suns
Warms the flesh of its perception's anchor
Certainties
Tides
Symbiosis

The Brine
From icebergs of inexperience
To thirsts quenched
As Droplets
Borne from glaciers
Dancing ice

Drift
Rinse
Worlds, mine
Like ships in the night
Silhouettes in passing
Upon romancing
Skyline starlit moon
For the shadows since denied
The doubtful fall
These journeys now I choose to suffer,
Thaws all such icy
Fears
In winters' noose
And from loss of strength,
Sojourn hearts
No longer sharing
Meiosis breaths
or sail upon the truth

Accompanied
No one there—
Now singing sirocco
                                     Aye aye captain!
Across the vast places
Frozen with no names
And arctic with none to blame
Map-less voyages of
Nautilus
Ahoy, Sir Loneliness!
Shameless
To Desolation, go—

A life cage,
If mine
Banished
On Tundra of time

Stalactites

This,
My own unfreezing
By simple choice, sublime.
Captain kid again, all mine
Joy the light
Truth my life

My whale of a ride
******
Epic.

HOMILY


After the preaching’s
Done-finished
Picking at the scabs
Of our guilt,
At week's end / day of rest;
Just when we almost had it
Bygone / Forgotten
From our minds
           It's a kinder kin to amnesia
A softer fog of fugue,
A healing art of our brain farts,
Not soaking in shame's
Diminishment,
Or stewing in self-helps.
"Deliver us!"      (bow down genuflect)

But then again
Here we are together to gather
Uncomplainingly
Complacently listening
Absorbing every lash
Of the metaphorical whip,
To be guided back to good
Such sermons for the flawed
humans that we know
We are -- unworthy...
But willingly we suffer
The word.
Oh how to be just like
The lamb...

So now, afterwards, when we have been
Emotionally & verbally punctured
Full of hollow
We are holes unworthy
Of being
Made whole...
Or so, we've been told
"It is written."

Now then let us meet for
homily
After King James harangues us
His version of fellowship,
Let us have verbal
******* with the word.
(Begotten?)
Perhaps over supping
Or during beer & NFL
Or some blood
Sport
Non-emasculating,
Reminding us how
Weekends roar
And Life is
Worth more
Than the inner wars
We are ourselves
Fighting.

After the sermon,  
Let's have true verbal
*******...
(Without be-getting a shred
Of guilt).

Santino

It would be rude to
Ask his mother (running to market for syringes)
Ask if he was crooked coming out,
A broken bambino, was he?

Haunched Santino and his mother
From their makeshift hut of crates
And unwanted soiled baby blankets
Stab themselves between the toes

While the Asians pass through
In their Lexus's and glittering Samsungs
As indifferent as the heroine
That Santino and his mother buy
(Veins like fingers rivers lightning)

She's sensitive about everything,
Watch what you say...
It seems like love, a son and his enabler
Or vice verses all the world
A rotten oyster.

I dare not ask his mother
Which came first
(The chicken or the egg?)
Was he a crack baby, her good boy, Santino
Or was she?

“Watch your mouth!”— She's yelling
At foodies parking their cars,
With her eyes closed, walking about, lost, lots...

He's a good kid, forever her bambino
I now understand selfishness
How deformed came the world to Santino...

CHi-Raq

A Buster is busted.

Figuratively disfigured (speech)

Mayhap way he speak?

Not just slow

Cuz he got flow

Figured out the Hustle

Keeps on and on and on and...

"In this ****** Life—brothas Broke!"

Sweet Swisher Blunts

Swish and stunted swoosh

Jumping hoops

(For who?)


Busters are Busted.

Vigorously. Voraciously. Hot.  

(Or rock-steady Kool)

And the gangs’

Got their gats & silky

Tommy-guns Polishing

(Head like a hole...)

Our whips.

Our babies.

Our Peeps

The War / The Streets

The Word itself, asleep...

Sweet Tea at the ready!

They're thirsty in

CHi-Raq.